


A Spoonful of Sugar

by oretsev



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bakery AU, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Modern AU, coffee shop AU, everyone will be happy!, some emotional scenes but not angsty, this is a feel good fic!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oretsev/pseuds/oretsev
Summary: Since her father’s death several years ago, Riza has dedicated herself to keeping Hawkeye Bakery afloat. When Roy Mustang opens a coffee shop next door, Riza finds herself getting more than just a caffeine fix. They’ve got their hands full managing custom cupcake orders, exploding espresso machines, and eccentric employees, but this new partnership just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to either of them.





	1. Oatmeal Raisin

Riza Hawkeye groaned as her alarm blared on the bedside table. She reached out a hand and switched it off. She sat up, rubbed a hand across her face, and flipped on the lamp. The clock read 3:30 AM, and it was time to get ready for work.

 

* * *

 

The streets of Central City were still dark as Riza unlocked the front door of Hawkeye Bakery. She didn’t bother to switch on a light until she got to the back room - she knew the layout of shop better than she knew her own apartment. Tossing her bag on the desk in the corner, Riza grabbed one of the many aprons hanging from hooks on the wall. She cinched the ties tight and scanned the wall where the day’s orders had be hung up. There weren’t many.

One ten inch round red velvet cake. “Happy Birthday Linda!” was to be written on it in red icing. For pick up at three.

Three dozen raspberry heart cookies for a school party. “No peanuts!” was scrawled in red pen across the top of the order form. For pick up at ten.

Two dozen assorted muffins. Probably for a morning office meeting. For pick up at eight.

Riza’s eyebrows drew together. Orders had been slowly dwindling over the years. On one hand, Riza loved the freedom of not having to base her day around pre-determined orders, to bake whatever whim struck her fancy that day without accounting for pickup times and leftover ingredients. On the other, she knew it was a sign that Hawkeye Bakery’s thirty year run was coming to an end.

With a sigh, she began pulling out the croissant dough that she had left in the refrigerator overnight to prove. Cartons of berries followed, along with bricks of butter, a gallon of milk, and a dozen eggs to get started on the muffins for the morning order. Warm water was mixed with yeast to rise, ovens were turned on and temperatures set.

For Riza, this was the best part of the day, before the other employees arrived. She was in her element, able to flit between mixers and proofing chambers unhindered. She preferred silence over the music the others always turned on, the dull roar of the hulking ovens and the slap of dough on the tabletop as she kneaded it providing the perfect white noise for her thoughts. As she slid trays into the oven and scooped batter into pans, time seemed to simultaneously speed up and stretch on forever.

By the time the door jingled with Jean Havoc’s arrival an hour later, the air was warm and sweet. Loaves were rising in linen-covered baskets and rows of muffins were cooling on racks. Riza looked up from where she was whisking together the base for oatmeal raisin cookies.

“Morning Riza,” Jean called over the clang of various mixers as he pulled an apron over his head.

“Morning Jean,” she replied. Riza turned one of the stand mixers behind her off and detached the bowl. Turning back to him, she poured the dry ingredients into the bowl. “How was last night? Or do I dare ask?” She gestured with her spatula towards a cloth covered bowl. “For cinnamon rolls, ready in about ten minutes.”

Jean lifted the corner of the cloth. “Looking good.” He crossed to the sink, turning on the tap and beginning to scrub his hands. “Last night was… good.” The tight grin on his face let her know that his date had likely been more than “good.” Riza quirked an eyebrow at his vague response. Jean rolled his eyes. “She’s way out of my league, you know, so it’s hard to tell. But I think… I think it was good. I’m seeing her again on Thursday.” He dried his hands on his apron.

“Well that’s something, at least. Can you slide a baking sheet over here?” Riza tore a sheet of parchment paper from a thick roll, lining the sheet that Jean set in front of her for the cookies. “Can you start on the dough for the raspberry hearts order while the cinnamon roll dough is rising? The muffins are already done, and all of the overnight breads are ready to go in. We’ve got an order for a red velvet cake, so we can double that and do cupcakes with the rest, but that’s not until later. Other than that, I was thinking cranberry walnut for the bread special, and carrot cake. I want to use up those blueberries before our next delivery, so let’s do blueberry for the scones. Falman can start on those and the croissants when he gets here.”

Jean nodded. He’d been working at the bakery for years, and despite a bumpy first few weeks, he had quickly fallen into Riza’s rhythm. While he had trouble shifting focus from one task to the next, she seemed to be able to effortlessly keep a running tally of what was happening in the kitchen at all times: what was rising, what was in the oven, what still needed to be done, and the best way to find time to do it all. “What about the oatmeal raisin?” he asked, jerking his chin towards where she was now portioning out huge spheres of prickly dough.

“What about it?” Riza quickly flattened the balls of the dough, leaving behind rough disks studded with dark raisins.

“They’re your comfort cookie.”

“They’re for the _store_.” Riza glanced at him, head tilted to the side and lips pressed tightly together.

Jean raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just an observation.” He pulled a large stainless steel bowl down off the shelf. “Are these for Sharon March again?”

“I think they’re for her son’s class. Someone has a peanut allergy. _But_ I also know that they’re her favorite, so I doubt all three dozen are making it to the classroom.” Riza opened the heavy doors of the oven. Squinting against the blast of hot air, she slid a tray of cookies onto each rack. In truth, Jean was right. Oatmeal raisin _was_ her comfort cookie. But she wasn’t ready to give voice to the weight of mediocre sales, rising overhead costs, and diminishing orders. She knew the day was fast approaching when she would need to start making tough decisions. For the moment though, the only pressing decision was whether she would start on the brioche next, or the sourdough.

 

* * *

 

Riza gingerly handed the cake box across the counter. “Make sure to put that on the floor of the car, not the seat,” she said solemnly. “If you leave it on the seat, it will slide off when you turn a corner and get ruined. Keep it as flat as possible and try to wedge it in place with something if you can. Okay?” The customer nodded Satisfied, Riza smiled. “Tell Linda happy birthday for me.” With the last order of the day picked up, the store felt quieter, emptier.

Back in the kitchen, Jean and Vato Falman were kneading dough at opposite sides of the large table in the center of the room. Seeing the two of them work side by side made the juxtaposition of their personalities and techniques all the more apparent. Jean’s style could almost be called slapdash, if it not for the remarkable quality of the finished products. He seemed to use his whole body to work the dough, cavalierly tossing the finished portions into baskets and onto trays. In contrast, Falman was more controlled, forearms tautly containing his motion, an exercise in loving efficiency. Whereas Jean was ultimately interested in his paycheck, Falman cherished the craft.

Aside from Riza, Falman was the most senior baker. After all these years, he was the only employee remaining who had known her father, Berthold. Falman was comforting in his familiarity, an anchor to her history, though she hoped he gave no more thought to their shared past than necessary. Her relationship with her father had been complicated, to say the least, and Riza was never quite sure how many of those complications Falman was privy to. Not that she was particularly eager to broach the subject.

Riza inspected the various loaves resting on the shelves, softly prodding a few to gauge their consistency. “I’m glad we had that done early,” she mused. Behind her, Jean’s eye roll was nearly palpable.

“You should have told her it wasn’t ready just to spite her,” he said. “Why the hell would she think she can just waltz in three hours early and have it be ready for her?”

“No one thinks about how their cakes are made,” Falman interjected. “They just show up and we have it ready. She probably doesn’t even realize what goes into making it. It’s not a box mix you can whip up in an hour.”

“Let me guess, she grumbled about the price too, didn’t she?” Jean reached easily over Riza’s head to slide a tray of sourdough rounds onto the top shelf of the rack.

Riza pursed her lips, transferring a sheet of risen baguettes to the work surface. “She was actually quite nice about it. She apologized and said she had mixed up the times. She seemed a little frazzled.” She quickly scored the tops of the baguettes and pushed the tray to the side.

“Hmm. We’ll give her a pass this time. Are those ready to go in?” At Riza’s affirmative, Jean scooped up the tray, taking it with him on his way to unload the oven’s current contents. Riza finished scoring the next tray and was reaching for another when the bell on the door signaled a customer.  
The bell had barely stilled before a voice called out. “It’s just me!” Recognizing her friend’s voice, Riza dusted her hands on her apron and made her way to the front counter. Rebecca Catalina was dropping her laptop bag and jacket at one of the few tables. She leveled an accusatory finger towards the glass dome-covered plate of oatmeal raisin cookies on top of the bake case. “What are those?”

Riza groaned. “They’re just for the store!”

“I don’t believe that at all but I’m choosing to ignore it for now. What’ve you got for me?” Rebecca leaned forward towards the display, inspecting the day’s offerings.

“Carrot cake?” Riza lifted the tray within the display.

“Less dessert-y. I’m not going to have time for lunch.”

“Blueberry scone or I have that cranberry walnut bread.”

“Mmmm… scone. Two scones. One for later. But I’m paying for both of them.”

Riza handed one to her friend, depositing the other in a brown paper bag. “You can pay for _one_ of them,” she said. Rebecca slid a bill across the counter. “You should have gotten a real lunch instead,” Riza scolded, handing back change that Rebecca promptly dropped in the tip jar.

“I didn’t get to see you this weekend. And I was driving by anyway.” She took a bite of the scone. “I’m interviewing some of the tenants of that office park on the east side that’s been having all those break-ins.”

“That should be good. Lots of rumors going around about those.”

Rebecca nodded, brushing crumbs off her blouse. “It’s a little Nancy Drew for my taste, but crime articles always pull a bigger audience.”

“I’m sure your piece will be tastefully scandalous,” Riza teased.

“I always am,” Rebecca replied. “Speaking of tasteful, The Scene’s looking for more local food and entertainment contributors. If you wanted, I could put in a good word for you. I think a baking column would be really well received.”

Riza’s lips twitched to the side. “I don’t think I have time for that.”

“Oh, you do too!” Rebecca said around a mouthful of scone. “It’s just a column. Short little thing. Once a month. And you’d get paid!”

The thought of a little extra income was enticing, but the idea of writing for a large audience wasn’t something Riza was eager to explore. “I’ll think about it.”

“I know that you think that means ‘no,’ but I’m definitely going to ask you again. So you better actually think about it.” Riza rolled her eyes. “Your first column could be how you make these scones so damn good.” Rebecca popped the last piece into her mouth.

“I promise I will think about it. And the trick is not to over-knead them.” Riza cocked her head to the side as her friend glanced down at her phone. “Duty calling?”

Rebecca wrinkled her nose, sliding her phone back into her bag. “No, just this guy I’m getting drinks with tonight. But I do need to get going.” She shrugged on her jacket.

“The face you just made did not seem very enthusiastic.”

“Well, you know. Gotta kiss some frogs and whatnot. Do I have crumbs on me?” Rebecca tugged on the hem of her blouse.

“You’re good. Text me where you’re going and when you get home.”

Rebecca nudged the door open with her hip, swinging the strap to her laptop back over her shoulder. “Yes, _mom._ What’s going in next door, by the way?”

Riza leaned slightly over the counter to get a better look out the window. “No idea. The ‘for sale’ sign came down last week but I haven’t heard anything.”

Waving her friend off, Riza crossed to the doorway. She stood a moment, watching as several workers moved in and out of the shop next door. Some carried boxes, others tables or chairs. She pursed her lips, hoping their new neighbor would be better than the last few that had come and gone in quick succession. She turned away from the windows, noting a smudge on one of the tables.

The doorbell dinged as she returned to the front with a wet rag. “Hi there,” Riza greeted, stashing the rag under the counter.

A dark haired man approached the register where she stood without a glance towards the display case. “Hey there.”

“What can I do for you?”

He braced his hands against the edge of the countertop. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and there was sawdust clinging to his front. “I have a slightly silly question.” His tone and wry smile suggested a confidence that his question was anything but silly. “What time does the mail come around here? We’re moving in next door, and we’re waiting on some important deliveries.”

“I was just talking to someone wondering what was going in there. It usually comes around two.” She smiled. “I’m Riza Hawkeye, by the way.”

“Aha, Riza Hawkeye of Hawkeye Bakery.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Roy Mustang,” he said, offering his hand. “Of Alchemical Brews.”

She shook his hand. “Alchemical Brews? Is that…”

“Coffee,” he confirmed. “I’d invite you over for some now, but frankly, it’s kind of a mess at the moment. Rain check?”

“I would like that.” She lifted the glass dome off the plate of oatmeal raisins. “Cookie? On the house for our new neighbor.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Are those raisins or chocolate chips?”

“Raisins.” Riza tilted her head in an unspoken apology.

“Oh good! I hate when I pick up an oatmeal cookie thinking it’s raisins and it turns out to be chocolate chips.” Roy picked up a cookie and took a bite. He nodded appreciatively. “That’s the stuff.”

“It seems like we’re in the minority when it comes to raisin appreciation, but as someone who makes it their business to know these things, raisins are the perfect complement to oatmeal.” Riza replaced the glass top.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He took another bite as he stepped back toward the door. “I’ve actually got to get back, but it was nice to meet you. Stop by whenever, okay? We should be semi-functional within the week, and we’re hoping to open by the end of the month.”

“Tight timeline,” Riza noted. “Let us know if you need anything. I’m almost always here. Perhaps next time we’ll have something more exciting than the postal service to talk about.” She arched an eyebrow.

“What could possibly be more exciting than the postal service?” Roy lifted a hand in mock confusion before turned back to the door. “Thanks again!” he called over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway.

Riza watched as he jogged back next door. The last few neighbors hadn’t lasted long, but she had a good feeling about this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so excited to finally share this with everyone! But I’m also pretty nervous. I’ve been developing this concept, daydreaming about it nearly constantly and working in bits and pieces, for over two years but I thought this year’s AU Day for Royai Week would be the perfect time to debut it. This is a story that has been so fun for me to work on. It has really catapulted me back into writing simply for the joy of it and has motivated me to work harder at outlining ahead.
> 
> Much like Riza’s oatmeal raisin cookies (my favorite also!), this story has been my “comfort cookie,” a place for for me to indulge in everything that I love about both Fullmetal Alchemist and fanfiction. This won’t be a direct parallel to canon: rather, I’m picking and choosing elements to keep, twist, or discard as I feel they work within this new story. Most, if not all, of the key players from canon will be making appearances, and the Elrics, Hughes, Winry, and the rest of Team Mustang will be have major roles. Although you can expect some emotional scenes and tough conversations, this is not a place where you will find heightened angst or character death. I’ve always loved reading about the small intimacies of everyday life, so I’m really looking forward to exploring these characters’ interactions and backgrounds through the quieter lens of coffee and croissants. I think they deserve a break from all they’ve been through in canon.
> 
> If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope you’ll stick around for the ride!


	2. Cornmeal Cherry Scone

Roy shuffled through the stack of applications he had printed out. He’d posted listings on several websites and had received an astonishing number of submissions; weeding through all of them had proven much more time consuming than he had anticipated. Nearly half of the applications were discarded immediately for various reasons, though Roy had been sorely tempted to extend an interview offer to the man who listed his reason for leaving his last job (after only three weeks) as “manager was a little bitch.”

Having whittled the list of possibilities down to a manageable number, Roy had begun the process of scheduling interviews. He’d held interviews for new hires before, when he was managing a coffeehouse on the east side of town. The prospect had been less daunting then -  he knew that if one new hire didn’t work out, he still had a whole crew he could rely on. An established crew also helped mold trainees into competent employees, coaching and leading by example. In this new venture, he was starting nearly from scratch. His attempts to choose applicants who would work well together and support the shop in its most vulnerable first weeks and months could very well crash and burn, leaving him amid the smoking ruins of his ambitions.

He scrubbed a hand over his face as if to dispel that particular train of thought. He wasn’t starting with  _ nothing,  _ he reminded himself. He had Breda. Breda had been an assistant manager with him, and though he’d made no secret of the fact that he was there to punch his card, he instilled the place with a relaxed orderliness that Roy was often unspeakably grateful for. Breda’s cool detachment was a blessing when dealing with tough employees. Whereas Roy’s temper often led him to assign more significance to issues than strictly necessary, Breda’s lack of emotional involvement swiftly pierced arguments to the core and allowed him to quickly return to his casual attitude towards work without lingering on disagreements. Knowing this, his co-workers tended to keep everything in line without much prompting. Outside of work, though, Breda’s flung himself into his recreational pursuits - namely, a tight-knit board game group that met at least twice a week and dissolved into shouting matches nearly as often. Roy had accompanied Breda to game night on occasion and each time regretted thinking he had the balls to go head to head over Catan with him. 

Roy had scheduled several interviews each day. He’d held five already this morning, with a few more set for the afternoon. He had a few in mind for full time positions, and several college students he planned to bring on part time. As interviews progressed, he was feeling more and more comfortable with the additions he was making to his potential roster. It occurred to him for not the first time that day that this was all on him, for better or worse. He hoped it would be for better, of course. But there were always the days that were definitely for the worse. Before, he’d been responsible for the day to day operations, but if push had ever come to shove, he could have walked away. There would be no walking away this time. Not without significant damage, at least.

The door opened, and Roy looked up from his heap of applications. A delivery man was in the doorway with a dolley stacked with several large boxes. “I’ve got a delivery for Roy Mustang?” the man called.

Roy sighed with relief. “Finally.”

 

* * *

 

“Last question: if offered the position, when would you be available to start?” Roy scanned his list of interview questions to ensure he hadn’t actually forgotten anything.

“I’m available after school and weekends immediately, but school lets out for the summer on the 30th and I’ll be available full time then.”

Roy scribbled the date at the top of the boy’s application. “What grade are you in?”

The boy sat up a little taller. “I’ll be a junior.”

Roy cocked an eyebrow. “So… a sophomore.” He suppressed a grin as the boy conceded with a nod. He stood and extended his hand. “Good luck with the rest of the school year, then. I’m hoping to finish interviews this week, so you should hear from me in the next few days. It was good to meet you, Edward.”

Edward stood as well and shook Roy’s hand. “Good to meet you as well.”

Moving his notes to the side, Roy jotted the name “Edward Elric” down on his “to hire” list. He was young and this would be his first job, but he was well spoken and bright. If there were going to be any problems, Roy thought to himself, it wouldn’t be because he couldn’t do the work. If anything, he might find food service dull and quickly move on to a different job. Or find an internship. School counselors were always pushing the internships.

The door had barely closed behind Edward when it opened again. 

“Sorry, we’re not-” Roy looked up from his notepad and stopped short as he recognized the blonde woman in the doorway. He smiled. “Riza. Hi.”

“Hi,” she said. “Sorry, are you busy? I just wanted to drop these off.” She held a small box in her arms. The print on the cardboard indicated it had once contained “BULK WALNUT PIECES” but it currently appeared to be full of a variety of baked goods.

“No, you’ve got perfect timing. I just got done with an interview.” Roy glanced down at his notepad and underlined the boy’s name once more.

Riza turned to look out the window. “I think I maybe passed your interviewee on the way in.” Outside, a beat-up gray sedan had pulled into the parking lot. Edward was crossing towards it, hands shoved into his pockets. “Is that him?”

Roy nodded, and they watched as the driver of the car, a girl about Edward’s age with a long blonde ponytail almost similar to Edward’s own, rolled down the window to shout something they couldn’t make out, an annoyed look on her face. If Edward responded, they couldn’t hear it, but the girl rolled up with window and he got in the passenger side.

“Are you going to hire him?” Riza set the box down on the counter next to Roy.

“I think so. He seems bright. Definitely brighter than most adults I’ve interviewed recently.” He squinted out the window towards the sedan than was exiting the lot. “Don’t know about that hair though…”

Riza gave a quick laugh. “I’m sure everyone at school thinks it’s very cool. Do you suppose that was his sister, picking him up? Or a… friend?” She raised an eyebrow.

He thought back to the girl’s exasperated expression as she yelled out the car window. “Tough call. Could go either way.” Riza nodded in agreement, her gaze lingering on the street outside.

After a moment, she turned back to to Roy. “Well, hey, I brought some day-olds over. I didn’t know if it was just you over here today but there’s a couple of different breads and muffins and things in here. Normally I’d just put them on sale but we had a lot today, so…” She tilted the box so he could see the contents. When Roy looked up from the assortment of treats, Riza smiled at him quickly enough that he thought perhaps he had imagined the concerned look on her face.

“Oh, wow, thank you.” Roy reached into the box, nudging aside a loaf of bread to see what else she’d brought. “These look great! It’s just me right now, Breda ran out to pick up a few things but I’m sure he’ll be excited too. We were trying to install these espresso machines that got delivered this morning,” he inclined his head toward the boxes and tools scattered about behind the bar, “but we don’t have the right adaptor for the water hookup.”

Riza’s eyebrows drew together. “Is it going to be hard to fix?”

“Nah, it won’t take long. Just a hassle.” His phone vibrated once where it sat on the counter top, then again. “Sorry,” he said, “this might be him.” He hated to be glued to his phone when Riza had just gotten here, but he hoped it was just a quick question from Breda. The phone vibrated a third time as Roy picked it up. As he looked at the screen, notifications continued to pop up. He groaned. 

“Problem?” Riza propped her elbow on the box’s edge, leaning in slightly.

Roy rolled his eyes as he turned the screen to face Riza. “Just a bunch of pictures of my friend’s daughter.” Riza reached out to scroll through the many pictures, a puzzled expression on her face. “It’s not that I don’t want to see the pictures, I do, really. But he sends me probably a dozen at time four or five times a day. It’s just a continual barrage of baby pictures.”

“She’s adorable, I can see why he wants to show her off.”

“Oh, agreed. But I don’t need to a highlight reel of every snack and nap and singalong.” Roy set his phone to mute and slid it into his pocket. “I feel rude not offering you a drink, especially after you’ve brought all of this over for us, but uh, as you can see…” He gestured towards the empty backline, which would hopefully house the espresso machine and other equipment shortly.

Riza laughed. “I guess I’ll just have to come back a different day.”

“I guess so. Hey, speaking of coffee, do you serve any drinks at your place? I don’t recall from the other day.”

She shrugged. “Not really. We have a pot of regular and a pot of decaf, and some bottled drinks in a cooler but nothing fancy.”

“I’m glad we’re not encroaching on your territory then. I’d hate to be the upstart little punk who came around and decimated your latte sales.” He’d been  _ exactly  _ that upstart little punk many times in his life, both in relation to lattes and otherwise, but this time he meant it. He would have been truly troubled to cause inconvenience to Riza, despite having just met her. There was something about her, a gentle steadfastness, that made him want to be just a little more thoughtful. “If you ever wanted to do something different, though, you should let me know. I can put you in touch with our distributor.”

“That’s a kind offer. I don’t think we have the bandwidth for it at the moment, but maybe someday.” Riza smiled again, but now Roy was sure - that  _ was  _ concern in her eyes. He wished he knew her just a little better, enough to ask what was wrong. She spoke again before he could respond. “I’d better be getting back. Do let me know what you think though,” she said, gesturing towards the box of baked goods on the countertop. “If you’ve got requests, I can usually work it into the menu.”

“I dunno, that oatmeal raisin from the other day might be hard to beat…” Roy raised an eyebrow.

“I guess I’ll have to up my game then. I’ll see you around.”

“Wait!” She was halfway through the door when Roy called out to her. He held up a plastic-wrapped pastry from the box. “What is this one, exactly?”

Riza paused, turning to look at the pastry in question. “Cornmeal cherry scone.”

“I don’t think I’ve had one of those before.” He turned the scone over in his hands, inspecting it.

“Must be your lucky day,” she called over her shoulder. The door shut behind her. 

Roy watched her through the window with something like regret as she walked back towards her own shop. She had a large streak of flour down the side of her jeans that he hadn’t noticed when she was standing next to him, and he found that strangely endearing.

If she were an applicant, he thought, he’d definitely hire her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops it's been way too long! I'll be honest, setting the stage for this story is not my favorite part. I've been working on some other scenes that come much later, but we're a ways off from them. Although I did consider just posting a rough outline and putting out chapters as I worked on them, kind of like reading the story on shuffle. I don't know if that's appealing to readers though, or just indulgent for me! (I suspect it's just indulgent for me.)
> 
> Anyway, here's one more step towards getting this story off the ground! Enjoy!


End file.
